Friday, April 4, 2014

Even You Can Prevent Forest Fires! Or Garbage Fires!

There was a cry from across campus.

Ladies! There’s a
fire, grab buckets!

We were in the middle of discussing the results of final
exams and the girls were wearing their nice classroom clothes. Nevertheless, we
were flying out the door and toward the billowing smoke, which we had already
begun to smell but hadn’t started to think about. The smoke was coming from
upriver, on our side of the road – quite obviously from the property of our
nearest neighbor and campus foreman, Elias. It smelled nasty.

Almost smells like barbeque, but is it?

We trudged in non-work shoes through the scrubby brush and
into a smokey, muddy scene. The water piping had been disconnected to help put
out the flames but it was too bulky and inflexible to really do much good.
Girls tried filling buckets and carrying it to smoldering areas but it was a
lot like The Little Rascals, when all
the kiddos make a line and pass the water, and by the time it reaches the fire
so much has been spilt that there’s only a tiny splash left. Pish, says the water, as it barely
kisses the smoke.

Luckily two of our present volunteers are some spunky,
knowledgeable women with forestry and backcountry training. Michelle jumped to
the helm of the extinguishing effort and calmed the beast. (Jessica has asthma
and regrettably couldn’t help too much.) She later reported the source of the
disgusting smoke was an intentional garbage fire, much like any garbage fire a
Honduran makes any day of the week. The difference here was, it was unattended,
it was over 90 degrees, and it was incredibly windy.

World-class Third-World firefighting.

The fire was finally out. Or was it?

A few hours later, I went for a hike to make a final
river-log crossing before I shove off next week. Nothing like tightroping
across a log on a lovely Honduran day! But as I rounded the corner past
Fancho’s tomato fields, there was the smoke. It was worse than before. It was
blacker, and bigger, and this time there were big visible flames on both sides
of the road I needed to pass. I tiptoed from rock to rock across the river, the
backroad to home. As I jogged haphazardly along the river line, knocking into
spider webs like I just didn’t care (except I did, because they give me the
creeps) I could see the fire blowing near our coffee-drying greenhouses.

If we have to
evacuate, do I have all my stuff together? I wondered. Am I going to have to reschedule my flight home and pay United Airlines
an extra $300 to do it?

When I finally made it back, puffing from the added speed, I
reported the situation to Michelle, who immediately ran over. She gathered our
Honduran workers and again, several hours later, had put down the fire. This
time it had taken out about half a football field, mostly of dry grass, but
incredibly close to Elias’ house and the coffee. And, as the smoke would remind
us, it was trying to blow toward campus.

And then the fire was out. Or was it?

Wendi and I went for a walk the next morning to, of course,
enjoy nature, but also to survey the damage. Much to our surprise, it was still
burning, and there was Michelle, with her pesticide-spray backpack filled with
water, telling the smallish flames who was boss (humans, of course, who were
also the ones who started it). One of the workers fiddled with a hose behind
her while smoking a cigarette. Old habits burn a long time.

And then, of course, the fire was out. It really was.

The coffee is safe! But for gosh's sake, don't burn your garbage and then walk away!

Except that last night, less than 48 hours after our
neighborhood trash disaster, another fire had started across the river. I
returned from teaching exercise class to hear “the mountain was up in flames”
down river near the waterfall drop. I didn’t go look. It was after dark and I
could hear helicopters in the distance. Rumor was the military had been called.
Honestly, I’ve been a bit sickened by the prevalence of avoidable burns.

This afternoon I wandered along the main path across the
river and didn’t go more than twenty minutes before I came to the blackened
forest. The thick blanket of pine needles had been completely charred but the
beautiful pines are nearly untouched. It’s pretty darn creepy walking into a
smoky forest with the ground still hot and the air still a complete ashtray. I
opted to turn around quickly for vanity’s sake: I had washed my hair this
morning. I have no intention of wasting my twice-a-week wash on the smoke of
yet another fire.

Will there be more? I hope not. Could there be more?
Probably. Americans are used to having hot showers. Rural Hondurans are used to smokin’
a ciggie while burning their paper and plastic. Am I afraid? No. We’re educating
the girls now about the dangers of burning garbage and changing our entire fire
routine. It was the push we needed to motivate a culture of risky cultural
practices to do something different.

So kind of like the phoenix, something better rises from the
ashes. And then, we will use the ashes to turn our compost toilet waste into
fertilizer.

About Me

"Caitlin is an emerging adult member of society, recently returned to her hometown in a whirlwind of career exploration, health pursuit and general awesomeness. She's been through three continents, two foreign languages, bizarre food, tears and laughter. What else? She is continuing her lifelong love of learning through her obsession with cooking, creativity, activity, walking miles, family, culture, love and simple happiness. Please join the discovery!"